The entry to the den was quiet. It was a sizable pit in the ground, easily enough for the hobgoblin to have went in and out of, and covered with piles of sticks and a layer of leaves to camouflage it with the grassy environment around it.
Presumably, the goblins did not want any unwanted visitors during the day when they slept.
By now, afternoon had barely dawned. The temperature was still on the colder side, however, even at the peak of day when sunlight exposure should have been at its maximum.
The Collector looked up, peering at the sun through gaps in the canopy of branches and leaves above. It stared at the sun in questioning.
Now that the Collector had developed a sufficiently complex ocular system, it could take in wavelengths of colors that matched what the hobgoblin itself could.
This also included the ability to perceive shapes and outlines clearly in the dark, but, as the Collector understood, these evolutions still did not explain the aberrant nature of the sun's visual appearance in this world.
The sun was entirely black, covered as if in eclipse, and yet, light still shone from it as if it was entirely unobscured.
There were certain tinkering races that could construct great spheres around their suns to harvest its energy, and for a moment, the Collector wondered whether such a class of civilization existed here independent of the primitive humans, but the possibility seemed vanishingly low.
From orbit, the planet looked largely undeveloped, still covered in vast swathes of undisturbed nature.
It decided to attribute the unnatural state of the sun as a visual anomaly created through light wavelengths interacting with properties in this world's atmosphere, though exactly what those properties were it did not know.
Nor did it particularly care so long as they did not pose a threat to it or provide a resource for any tinkering species here.
Yet any civilization here would be pitifully primitive, unable even to fight against and dominate the ecosystem of its home planet, let alone harbor extraplanetary or interstellar capabilities.
This made the Collector more confident in its hunting, and yet, it still knew to be careful, to lay low until it had further knowledge of this world.
After all, there was that thing.
That great construct or creature of light that could match the Collector even when it was in its prime battle ready state.
Remembering that threat steadied the Collector's focus. It trained its mind on the hunt at hand, listening.
Insects and birds alike chirped aplenty, not knowing they were singing to a scene of impending massacre.
Earthy scents lingered in the air. The smell of green flora and musky traces of goblins dominated the air, but there were no other scents.
There would be no interference.
The Collector was thorough as it approached the entrance of the goblin nest.
It hunched over the den and extended its burly arm with a silent, gliding motion that utterly belied its brawn. There was not a single rustle or crackle as the Collector picked apart the sticks and leaves that made up the entrance, uncovering the den.
With the den bare, the Collector observed that it sloped downwards, into the earth and, using its night vision, saw that it led to a much larger cavern sufficient in size for twenty goblins to rest.
The Collector crawled in with a measure of difficulty as it was larger than the hobgoblin, and the den itself was made to accommodate at maximum capacity the hobgoblin's size, probably to deter entry by any larger predator.
However, the Collector had control over its musculature at a fine level that no ordinary species possessed, and it twitched and undulated and condensed its muscle fibers so that it seemed to shrink and warp, twisting its way into the den while making a bare minimum of sound.
Now inside, the Collector felt that the air underground was even colder, almost frigid. Each of its warm blooded breaths left a trail of fog to mark it. It took its hand, now humanoid in shape, and extended an index finger.
Fine lines of spider-silk emerged from the fingertip, glinting in the few errant rays of sunlight that draped into the dark of the pit's entrance. It used its finger to draw up a web, sealing the entrance shut.
The pit became darker, the webbing blotting out the sunlight.
Nothing would come in. Nothing would leave.
There would be no survivors. No wasted biomass.
The goblin den was simple in structure. One large cavern where all twenty goblins slept, sprawled about and snoring.
Underground, it was dark, but the Collector's night-vision and antennae could sense each and every one of these little creatures, their minute movements, the quick rhythm of their breathing, the beating of their small and fragile hearts.
It was a testament to the Collector's silence that it could stalk its way to the middle of all of them without alerting them at all. Or perhaps it was a testament to their laziness.
Either way, it was weakness.
Prey should always be on the alert. The Collector was disappointed. This was what happened when animals gained unrefined intelligence – they lost touch with their most basic instincts, the very same primal instincts that had let them live and evolve to what they were now.
It was only mercy to end their paltry evolutionary lines and make them part of something far bigger, far worthier.
The Collector knelt by one of the sleeping goblins. It rustled a little, perhaps sensing its impending doom, but instead of waking up in alert, it rolled over on its stomach, snoring and snorting.
The Collector decapitated the goblin with one clean swipe of its clawed hand.
Blood spurted from the goblin's empty neck, spattering onto a companion sleeping nearby. This other goblin woke up, rubbing its eyes. They glowed yellow in the dark, but with how wide they became, the glow accentuated his utter terror.
"Monster! Monster!" shouted the goblin, scrambling up.
The Collector punched its claws into the goblin's stomach and expanded its fingers from within, slicing the creature in two.
By now, all the goblins had roused from sleep and started screaming a symphony of terror and alarm.
One brave goblin attempted to bite at the Collector's leg but instead shattered its teeth on blackened carapace.
The Collector raised its foot and squashed the goblin, grinding the creature's skull under its heel.
The goblins, their eyes adapted to darkness, saw everything clearly, and knew at a deeply fundamental level that every ounce of their instincts screamed at them, telling them that they had no chance against this monstrous intruder.
"Draug! Draug!" they shouted in unison.
With mass hysteria gripping them, they collectively moved further into the cavern, into a secondary, smaller chamber.
The Collector took its time, following them with slow, almost lazy steps. It did not have to waste energy after all. The goblins had no way to escape. No way to fight back.
"Where Draug!?"
The goblins looked around in confusion. The Collector also looked. This cavern was cozier than the one before.
There was a semblance of privacy to it with a curtain of leaves and branches. Behind it, instead of cold hard earth for bedding, there was a rug of sufficiently complicated embroidery to indicate construction from a more advanced species with a basket filled with fruit by it.
Draug's quarters, presumably.
"I killed Draug," said the Collector with newfound vocal chords. Its voice was deep and raspy, a clicking undertone emphasizing its every word with an unnatural, skin-crawling intonation. The side effects of producing vocal cords mixed with insectoid genetic material.
"I butchered him wholesale at his watering hole. There is nothing left of him now. But none of you should feel any sorrow for his passing. He has become something more now, serving a purpose far nobler than what his simpleminded brutishness could have ever hoped to conceptualize."
The Collector neared the goblins, and they withdrew even further, huddling together and shaking in fear.
"You strong! You Draug now!" said one of the goblins.
"You Draug! You Draug!" repeated the others.
"I am Draug?" said the Collector. It knelt on the ground to look the goblins in the eye, almost as if it was talking to children. "What does that mean, little creatures? Draug is dead. I slew him personally. Consumed his flesh. Devoured his bones. Left not even an errant drop of blood staining the grass."
The Collector was no fool. Although it would have liked to simply annihilate all these goblins and consume them, if it could, it would still try to obtain some information from them, for memory extraction through consumption, especially with more intelligent species such as this goblin, was limited.
Until the Collector was at the height of its power, it was still in a strange, unknown world of potential dangers, and every bit of information mattered.
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